


Heart Song

by Mareel



Series: Without Change [4]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Family, Future Fic, M/M, Music, Sailing, Trekstock Prompt 2: Music in the soul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 23:14:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mareel/pseuds/Mareel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unexpected gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart Song

**Author's Note:**

> Taking place approximately 20 years after the launch of the _Enterprise NX-01_ , this is an AU in canon with my [Without Change](http://archiveofourown.org/series/45835) series, although it also stands on its own. It is Jonathan's voice; he and Malcolm have a long-established relationship. The lyrics are from _An Eriskay Love Lilt._

 

_Moon of guidance by night  
Strength and light you are to me_

 

“This pub looks promising, Jonathan. There’s a note tacked to the board outside with a schedule of the sessions for the month – and there’s one tonight.”

“Sounds like a good choice. And I’m getting hungry, so let’s go for it.”

Private time has become even more important to me than it was when I captained the _Enterprise_. At least then, some shoreleave was at the Captain’s discretion and I tried to make sure everyone had a chance to get off the ship from time to time. At Starfleet Command, getting away on leave – even as an admiral – is usually a logistical nightmare. And getting it to coincide with Malcolm’s availability makes it even more precious when we do get a chance to get away together for a few days. 

If we’re on Earth, we try to spend some time on the vintage wooden sailboat Malcolm inherited from his Scottish grandmother. It holds a lot of memories for us, since it was on our first sail on the _Eala Bhan_ that Malcolm and I finally acknowledged our feelings for each other. 

Some of my favorite memories from the sailing we’ve done are related to the ports we’ve visited. It seemed like everywhere we found a dock there was a pub within shouting distance, and some of them had great music to go along with the food and Guinness. 

As I learned on our first trip together around the Minch, Malcolm has a real ear for traditional music. He knows what he likes and he knows what’s being well performed. The two might or might not be congruent, but he’s honest about both his taste and his ear. Tonight, as we wait for the session to begin in this tiny pub in Castlebay, I ask him how he learned so much about it.

“I was raised in a home where the only music was classical. My father wasn’t musical at all, but he tolerated my mother’s piano sonatas and agreed that an exposure to what he termed ‘the classics’ would be educational for Maddy and me. Of course when he was at sea, the two of us smuggled in a selection of whatever was popular at the time. Some of it was rubbish, but the appeal was that it was forbidden.”

“Of course. It’s good that you two found some way to be normal teenagers!”

I ask how he ever managed to develop a taste for Scottish and Irish traditional music, since that clearly wouldn’t have been on the approved list. He laughs at that, and if I wasn’t already in love with him, I would have fallen for that laughter alone. 

“My grandmother didn’t really give a rat’s ass about what my father thought about much of anything. And Maddy and I spent summer holidays at her house on Staffin Bay.”

I nod. “On Skye, yes. I’m still sorry I never got to meet her… she seems like a woman I would have admired… and liked a lot.”

“She would have loved you, Jonathan. And she would have listened for hours on end to your stories of exploring the stars. Her world was the sea and her island, but we used to watch the stars together sometimes, looking for meteors. And she would sing. Unaccompanied, just her voice echoing in the long twilight.”

“What did she like to sing?” I knew she had taught Maddy at least some Gaelic songs – she had sung one at the memorial service for her grandmother that I’d attended with Malcolm.

“All kinds of music… mostly older songs. But not all traditional – she loved mid-20th century music too. Hearing her sing Lennon’s ‘Yesterday’ almost made my heart hurt – she made it such a personal thing. But her first love was Gaelic song. I wasn’t ever very good as a Gaelic speaker, but I knew her songs and what they meant.”

I can understand that. I have no knowledge of the language at all, but some of the performers we’ve heard seem to make it unnecessary. I’m about to ask him more, but the musicians have finished tuning and one of them starts the first set. 

“They’re good,” Malcolm whispers to me in the barely perceptible pause between sets. No sooner has the last note died, but someone starts another tune. The fiddler, this time… beginning with a plaintive air. I’m torn between watching his face as he plays and watching Malcolm’s face as he listens. He must know that one. His eyes close and his lips move silently as if mouthing words to the music. All too soon, the solo fiddle is joined by the rest of the musicians one or two at a time, weaving an intricate web of sound around the simple melody before transitioning into livelier tunes, ending in a reel that leaves me breathless… and the musicians apparently thirsty. They pause for a break, refilling their glasses and chatting with one another and the pub regulars.

Malcolm murmurs something about fresh air, and I follow him as he ducks out into the cool night. I wrap an arm around him and draw him close to my shoulder as he gazes out across the bay. Tiny lights sparkle on a few of the boats, but the sea and the sky beyond are unpolluted. The moon is a sliver and the stars are all out. We watch them in silence for long minutes. 

“That song was one of my gran’s favorites. I’ve seldom heard it as an air the way they played it. She used to sing it. It’s a song of love and loneliness… and it’s of this place. Or near to here – Eriskay is the small island we sailed past after leaving South Uist. 

Malcolm and I have been together for over twenty years now. And he can still surprise me. We’ve walked down to the white sand beach and, out of the silence, he begins to sing. I don’t know if he’s singing to me or just to the night and the stars. But it’s heartfelt and beautiful. And it feels like a gift that he’s chosen to share his songs with me for the first time. 

As he sings a last stanza, he turns to face me, taking my hands. And I know his song is to me, for me… a long-hidden part of himself. 

Unwilling to intrude on the calm silence after the last words are sung, I simply kiss him and we walk hand-in-hand back to our boat. 

Content.

 


End file.
